


Centricidal

by BitterlySweets



Category: Jreg, The Centricide (Webseries), political compass
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Drug Addiction, Gay Panic, Gen, Homophobia, LGBTQ, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Multi, Other, Politics, Regret, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterlySweets/pseuds/BitterlySweets
Summary: Alrighty so, this initially was supposed to be a continuous story but since jreg uploaded centricide 4 a lot in my currently planned plot wouldn't make sense so i guess i'll just make this a oneshot book for writing prompts
Relationships: Authleft/Ancom
Comments: 28
Kudos: 156





	Centricidal

With another bottle, another hour gone.

The outside streetlights were dimmed by the curtains covering the slightly stained and dirty windows, with some rays still cracking through, tinted by fine dust particles.

Bottles and cigarette buds were littering the apartment.

It also reeked of alcohol, sweat and smoke, but he couldn't care less.

How long had it been?

How long had it been since they saw eachother? Looked at one another oh so lovingly? Caressed one another ever so sensually?

He couldn't remember.

He slumped back onto the couch and coughed, tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. He tried wiping them off but after a minute or so more just kept on coming. With a sharp inhale he sobbed and let them flow, staining his shirt.

He couldn't live like this. Not without him. He didn't even realize how much he depended on him but still continuously abused and exploited him for his own success.

Wasn't even this what capitalists do? He probably was just as bad...Yes. He was.

He was a horrible, horrible man blinded by the dreams of a better world and he destroyed everything for it. Everything he loved. Hell, even killed for it.

He was willing to give everything and now it's coming back to bite him. And he deserved it, he now came to realize. He had everything coming on from the start.

He tried drowning out the sorrow with another swig of vodka. And it did, it numbed the feelings, the guilt, the regret, very well.

There wasn't another option for him anymore, he fucked up, bad, and it was all his fault and irreparable.

He was a fucking bastard, a monster, and deserved to die for every life he had destroyed, he knew. And with that he gulped the alcohol until the bottle was empty and threw it to the side carelessly, his body feeling lifeless and without energy.

If he could just have him back, his love, his kitty.

But no, he'd never come back after what he had done.

And he understood that. It was reasonable. The only thing he did was keep away from a person that would cause and has caused him pain, so much pain, and tried justifying it by claiming it had been for a greater good.

The too familiar feeling of heaviness and aching spread in his chest once again and tearing at his heart, ever since his love left.

A few more tears slipped and he let them. He frowned and heaved himself off the couch, reaching for a printed out picture on the shelf. He carefully took it and dusted it off. It was a photo of them, after they attended a pride parade two years back. The anarchist was smiling happily while holding him close. His gaze wandered over the pins on his hoodie, one stating his pronouns. He never understood that. He didn't understand the whole idea of a pride parade either. Back then, he criticized him for his ridiculous choice of pronouns, for celebrating when there was still a class war going on. Yelling at him whenever he was telling him that the lgbt community had achieved something, yelling at him when he was sad about members having been killed and instead not focusing on the greater issue, which was the capitalist system and the bourgeoisie. 

Only now he realized that he was just as oppressive as them, that by not acknowledging other problems since there were greater ones that it was just as bad as causing them, by being the one not caring. His mentality was the reason why pride was needed in the first place, and only now he noticed. Another wave of regret and shame washed over him. He had been so horrible. So horrible to them, so horrible to him..No.. _Quem._

He grit his teeth and forcefully tore the picture. He didn't deserve quem, didn't deserve to be with quem, since he was the poison in quems life, tearing quem's happiness apart piece by fucking piece.

He dropped the shreds and sunk to his knees, loudly weeping into his hands. If que didnt realize sooner, who know what would've happened? Would he have pushed quem to the front line, getting quem killed too, claiming it would've been for the greater good? God. 

His phone interrupted his spiral of negative thoughts. He grabbed it off the glass table and saw the number, anger boiling up inside him. If it weren't for this scum, he maybe even would've been together with quem.

He picked up nonetheless and pressed 'accept'

''What do you want''? He growled, trying not to explode with rage onto the anti centrist on the end of the line.

''Alright so, basically, we have an issue. Nihilist Centrist is back and-'' he started, but was immediately interrupted.

 _''I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING HEAR IT._ NO, I will _NOT_ be there to HELP. You know EXACTLY that i do not want to help your god fucking delusional cause anymore, especially after what YOU have DONE.'' He shouted, absolutely furious at having this complete asshat believe he'd actually join him again once more, especially after what went down a few months ago.

''-but wait, wait, you might actually care about this one.'' He tried reaching out, noticeably shaken from his outbreak.

''And what would-'' He sharply inhaled, trying to recollect himself, ''And what would make you, of all people, believe _I_ would be there to offer _you_ support?''

''..About Ancom-''

''Anarchist. You know it. What about him.'' he snapped.

''Yes, about Anarchist, well uh..He is being held captive. By the centrists and also Fascist.'', The anti paused.

''Are you sure he didn't just _join them?_ '' he responded, already tired of him and ready to hang up any second now, though he was unsure why Anarchist would be teaming up with Fascist, probably to just get as far away from him or his ideals. Probably.

''Yes! Very sure even.'' He continued, ''They're holding him captive at an to us unknown stay and they're threathening to kill him or something incase we, as a collective, don't show up-''

''WHAT?!''

he shouted once more, his voice hoarse.

The grip on his phone tightened, threathening to break it. Oh boy was he ready to break every inch of bone in the centrist's faces.

''Me and the others, ancap and such, are currently at your guy's old apartment. You should show up as soon as possible, they really didn't seem to be kidding about thi-''

He hung up, forcefully enough that it left a crack in the phone's glass.

He struggled himself into some pants that were lying around, and slipped on his leathery boots and jacket. He ran his fingers through his rather greasy hair and grabbed his gun off the TV.

He hurriedly rushed outside and slammed the door shut behind him and immediately went for where his car had been initially been, but he forgot he had returned it ever since he gave up on paying bills after the incident back then. It also was too late to now take any sort of public transport. Guess he had to run those kilometers.

''Fucking damn it.'' He hissed and went in for a run. The cold winter air embraced him as he in- and exhaled it sharply.

His eyes were filled with fury as he sprinted through the snow, the flakes getting caught up in his hair, making a few strands stick to his face.

His lungs ached already but he kept on running, fuelled by the sheer amount of anger he currently felt pulsating through his blood and veins.

He was ready to save Anarchist and embrace him again, and god was he also ready to fucking _murder._


End file.
